The Mortal's Dream
by arial-destiny
Summary: Growing up is a difficult thing, but perhaps the hardest thing is realizing that those you love won't wait for you. AU


This fic is a reupload (please see my profile for details) and also features Iceland as another major character and has a Sweden cameo.Hans is the human name I have chosen for Norway, and Søren the human name for Denmark.

**__**Enjoy! =)**_  
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><p><em><strong>Introduction<strong>_

Hans' adult life started out roughly when his parents abruptly decided to move to the city. He refused to move with them, considering that he was now legally an adult, and couldn't bear to move away from the small cottage house and the snow-covered mountains that he coveted so much. His father insisted that he left Norway; it was too small a country, in a big, big world. Hans wouldn't hear it though; Norway was where his heart was.

His parents had also pestered him to attend university. The young man refused to, believing that he had no interest in academic pursuits and seeing no benefits of getting a bachelor's degree. The very idea of having a desk job, like his father seemed to have wanted, appalled him as his greatest happiness was to spend every day with nature. Their differences in thought separated them, and Hans became estranged from the very man who raised him.

Alone, he stayed in the two-story wooden house their family owned, and got a job working at a ski resort a few miles away. Seeing as gasoline was so expensive way out in the north and his lack of an automobile, he thought it was easiest to ski to work each morning, the activity that he enjoyed the most of all. His flexible schedule and weekly route included skiing to the nearby town for groceries each weekend, with a rope tied around his midsection, allowing him to drag a cart with him. At first it drew a lot of weird glances from the townsmen, but eventually they grew used to his weekly presence. With that simple routine, he lived the first three years of his adult life in relative peace.

The only time his lonely day-to-day life was interrupted was during the summer holidays when his friend, Søren, came to live with him near the wilderness. Søren was a loud, tall, well-built Danish man who was an exchange student when he was in secondary school. Hans' parents accepted him into their home during Søren's final two years before graduation, and the two teenagers had attended the secondary school in town together. Even after graduation, Søren remained close friends with the family, and visited his parents regularly in the city, then staying with Hans during July and August. The Dane attended university in Copenhagen, a city as lively as he was, but enjoyed the quiet nights spent with his friend just as much. Together they renovated the house each summer, went fishing, rock climbing, and experimented on new dishes - though without much success.

The third summer after graduation, Hans was twenty-one. It was that summer, when everything changed.

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><p><em><strong>Act One<strong>_

"W-watch out!" screamed Hans as he watched his friend tumble into a large mound of snow. The taller man's skis stuck in the snow, thrusting the Dane up and over, then onto the ground in a loud _thump!_ Sighing in frustration, Hans skied after his friend, gliding with elegance only an experienced skier would have. After being helped out of the mess he made of himself, Søren chuckled enthusiastically,

"Geez! Man, you should become a pro-athlete, join the Olympics or something. I don't get how you can manoeuvre around so well!"

Hans shook his head as he brushed snow off of his friend's black and red coat, "there are much better skiers than me in this country. This is Norway you know. I just do it for recreation."

"Nah-uh! I would say that skiing is your life! Those guys are nothing compared to ya," his friend grinned wider, his bright blue eyes glimmering in the sunlight. Upon hearing the compliment, Hans unconsciously flinched at the sight of his friend's dazzling features. His cheeks began turning pink as he turned and avoided his friend's glance, skiing off without him.

"Just take your time, you bumbling idiot. You don't need to go faster than me you know," Hans lectured, which didn't seem to deter the Dane. Hans' cheeks continued to flare as he made his way down the side of the mountain, perfectly turning on his skis even when his thoughts were distracted.

Though Hans wasn't bad looking himself, his lack of socialization resulting from his isolated home made him uneasy around people he didn't know. His first impression of Søren, back when he was sixteen, was that the Dane was a very attractive person. His friend was always smiling and chipper and chatty with everyone, while Hans was always expressionless and avoided conversation unless necessary. Added to his bright personality were Søren's physical characteristics: gleaming blonde hair, strong jaw line and muscular physique, which was impressive for his young age. He was the common topic of gossip among the town girls, and Hans couldn't help but feel a bit envious of his popularity. When his friend complimented him like that, Hans thought it was just petty flattery, especially when his friend was so well blessed by God in comparison.

It was a sudden movement to his right that brought him back into reality. A shape seemed to be squirming in a nearby patch of sequoias, just a few dozen meters from Hans. At first he thought it was just a hare that got stuck, and deviated from his path so he could free the poor thing. However, upon approaching the creature, he realized that his initial evaluation was wrong, as the creature seemed to be human-shaped.

When he got close enough, he crouched down to observe the situation before him. The creature turned out to be a boy, by looks to be about seventeen or eighteen, with a boyish round face and pouty lips. The strangest part was his shocking, almost white-coloured hair and his violet eyes, definitely features normal humans did not have. His first thought was that perhaps he had found the lovechild of a yeti and a human, but thought against the idea when he realized how ridiculous it was. He stared at the boy for several minutes until he was tapped on the shoulder, making him startle in surprise.

"What's going on here?" Søren asked as he peeked over Hans' shoulder, "Woah! What a strange looking boy! Hey, can you understand us? Want me to speak English instead?" the Dane asked as he grinned at the violet-eyed boy, always looking for ways to practice his English.

The boy shook his head as though he understood them and tried to get up, only to fall down again because his pant leg had caught on what seemed to be a puffin trap. Understanding the situation, Hans slowly approached the boy and helped him out of the trap, lifting him up by the arm when he saw the boy's injury. The boy stared at the two silently, not making a sound as he looked back and forth between them. However, the trio's quiet staring was interrupted by a loud growl, which startled all three. Hans became wide-eyed as he looked around for a bear or some other carnivorous animal, only to realize the sound came from his own stomach. His discovery encouraged a loud, obnoxious laugh from the Dane, who picked up the boy and slung him over his shoulders against his will and cried out,

"Come boy! Let's go back home and get some grub! We'll getcha a nice band-aid too," which didn't stop the boy from trying to squirm out of his grip, but he stayed silent as Søren hummed as he carried his "new friend" home, without really thinking about where the boy could have come from.

Unfortunately for Hans, he wasn't as lucky as to have the ease Søren had, and was plagued with questions the whole ski home. _Who is this strange looking boy? Where are his parents? Does he live alone? Why doesn't he say anything?_ All of which remained unanswered.

It took three days until the two friends were able to coax words from the boy. They previously thought the boy might have been mute, but it turned out that he was actually extremely shy. The boy stuttered as he said that he lived in the mountains but hadn't seen humans in years, which surprised Hans greatly. _Was this boy abandoned by his parents?_ It didn't seem like he was willing to say so, yet the boy spoke Norwegian so perfectly, it was hard to believe his story completely.

Even without a full background story, Hans and Søren were willing to share their home with the boy, who they decided to call "Iceland" because they had found him in the icy mountains. Slowly, over the course of the summer, the boy began to open up to them, talking sparsely, but willingly. Hans and Søren shared their knowledge of building structures, and together the three of them painted the wooden cottage and rebuilt the roof, which was collapsing due to the previous winter's heavy snowfall. Iceland's painting was sloppy when he started, but he learned to make the strokes neater as he progressed. The boy also shared his knowledge of the wilderness with the two friends. His nature-prowlness surpassed even Hans', which surprised Søren who previously considered Hans a 'tree-hugger'. Upon recognizing Iceland's abilities in finding edible foods in the woods and hunting game, Søren began to shower the boy with compliments, unknowingly making Hans uncomfortably jealous. The summer passed without further prodding for answers. The two concluded that it didn't really matter who the boy really was, they got along like a happy family regardless of the boy's origins.

As the last days of summer arrived, Søren brought out several bottles of spirits one night, to celebrate their time together. Hans had groaned about it, silently angry that Søren was out to get drunk again, and afraid that Iceland would follow his example. However, he abstained from protesting, since the Dane had been sober an entire summer for once and decided to just make sure nothing got out of control.

To Hans' surprise, Iceland seemed to be immune to the effects of alcohol. He refused to drink it at first because he didn't like the taste of the strange beverage, but with Søren's encouragement and adding of juice to the drink, he was able to drink an entire bottle himself, without seeming to feel anything at all. Strange for someone who claimed to never had alcohol before. The Dane, on the other hand, began to develop a slur to his speech before long and drooped himself all over Hans. Hans pushed the larger man off of him as Søren began to get touchy, as he always did when he got drunk. It was irritating enough when it was just the two of them, but he couldn't help but feel unbearably embarrassed that Iceland was watching the whole scene with fascination.

"Stop being annoying. Iceland, can you get the beds ready? I think it's about time we go to sleep. Better to put this oaf to bed before he gets rowdy."

The boy nodded as he forced himself to turn away from the scene, trying to hide his disappointment. He wanted to see what was going on, and didn't understand why the tall blonde man started acting strange after drinking the nasty beverage. He made himself drink a whole bottle, against the wishes of his taste buds, but there was no such effect.

Hans stared at Søren after Iceland left, face in a grim frown. The drunken man smirked back at him, as if daring him to make a move. Hans reached to pick up the empty spirit bottle, only to be roughly turned around and pulled by the larger man into a tight grasp. Søren buried his face in Hans' neck, making the boy blush bright red and react by pushing his friend off again. After a delayed reaction, the Dane spoke as if completely sober,

"Why do you always stay here, in this little secluded part of Norway?"

Hans forced himself to look Søren in the eyes despite the embarrassment, "it's my home."

"That's not an excuse to avoid travel. You should come to Copenhagen some time," Søren suggested, his face solemn for the first time that summer. Hans shook his head in response,

"I like this place. I don't need to leave."

"You'll like Copenhagen better, I bet," his signature grin returned to his face. In a sudden movement, he pulled his smaller friend back into his arms and massaged his shoulders possessively.

"-or do you want me to kidnap you and take you there?"

Hans jerked at his words, and turned around to punch his friend in the shoulder when the Dane fell onto his back, unconscious.

The evening ended without any further problems. Søren slept like a baby, and Hans left Iceland at the door of his room before creeping back to his own room down the hall. He tried to sleep but couldn't shallow what Søren said and tried to do to him, it was like addictive, bitter medicine. He tossed and turned in the bed, unable to kick the thoughts out of his head. It was embarrassing, the way the Dane had treated him in front of Iceland. The questions raged against him, unwilling to let him sleep in peace.

It was almost two in the morning when he finally gave up thinking to go to the toilet down the hall. On his way there, he noticed that the door to Iceland's room was ajar. Like a mother, Hans couldn't help but peek in, only to realize that the boy wasn't asleep at all, but rather looking out of his large window at the moonlight. He bed was still perfectly made, as though he didn't even attempt to sleep. Hans shook his head unconsciously and continued towards the bathroom to do his business. It was strange that Iceland didn't want to sleep, but his own lack of sleep caused him not to dwell on the thought. After returning to his room, he opened his curtains, allowing the light of the moon to fill his living space as Iceland had. Soon, he fell into a deep slumber.

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><p><em><strong>Act Two<strong>_

The summer ended and Søren left to go back to university. The two spent their days alone, Iceland quickly becoming Hans' shadow. Like a puppy willing to please, Iceland volunteered to do Hans' chores when he was at the ski resort, and worked hard to impress his housemate. Unknown to Hans, Iceland began to develop a deep affection for him, bordering an obsession. His movements, the way he arranged the furniture, the beat of the music he liked, Iceland noticed and studied them all, completely entranced. Since he had so much time on his hands, he sometimes moved the furniture around, analyzing how it was made and trying to make copies from excess wood from their summer renovation. Before long, the sparse decorations became plentiful as Iceland began to improve his woodworking abilities.

Hans was definitely impressed with the boy's capacity to learn, and was tempted to enrol him into the secondary school in town. However, Iceland refused to leave the house and wished only to stay with Hans. Remembering Iceland's initial shyness, he began to give him a variety of strange tasks to do when he wasn't there. One of which was to domesticate a puffin, which Iceland attempted but with limited success.

The seasons passed and the two toughed out the brutal winter together, finding light in each other on the days with as few as six hours of sunlight. Hans often called his parents throughout the year, except for during the winter when the phone lines were frequently down.

Summer approached and he received news from his folks about Søren, which put him in a rather foul mood for days. Iceland didn't understand why his object of affection was so down, but he was too shy to ask about it for weeks. When summer finally came, he finally gave in to his ravaging curiosity and asked innocently if Søren was coming for the summer this year.

"No." Hans replied in a tone of finality, "Apparently, he found some girlfriend in Copenhagen during the school year. He isn't coming back because he decided to move in with her."

Iceland looked taken back as his eyes became wide. Realizing that Iceland may not know what a 'girlfriend' was, Hans began to explain to him, only to stop when it seemed Iceland comprehended the situation without his explanation. After a moment of awkward silence between then, Iceland finally broke the silence with a stutter.

"A-are you upset by it?" Iceland said quietly, genuinely curious about what Hans thought.

In an atypical display of facial emotion, Hans' face twisted as he spat out, "it's not a big deal. He is twenty-two now, it's perfectly normal for those from a big city like Copenhagen. Actually, I'm surprised he hasn't had a girlfriend before now." _Especially since he's so good looking. _Hans bit back the last few words. They were too personal to share.

The two fell back into momentary silence, until Hans added, "Søren is such a hopeless idiot. It's not like they'll last for long anyways."

Iceland, being the observant boy he was, couldn't help but notice the undertones of spite and hope lingering in Hans' last phrase. Seeing as how upset Hans was because of the event, he decided not to pursue the topic further and left his housemate alone, in order to work on a new table. As he walked out towards the workshop he build for himself, Iceland vowed to work extra hard this summer to make up for the lack of Søren's presence.

Since Søren wasn't coming and needing of being entertained, Hans decided to work more hours at the resort instead of taking two months off like he usually did. He told Iceland of his plans to make enough money for the both of them to travel to the city to see his parents in fall, which relieved Iceland of some of his worry. At least Hans had something to occupy his mind.

The weeks passed, and Iceland began to notice that Hans was eating less and less while working more and more. His skin was drawn taunt, and his already slim physique shrank. By August, Hans was promoted for his hard work to a manager position, and began to work overtime to adjust to his new responsibilities. Hans never said anything, but it was obvious to Iceland, who always observed him like a hawk, that Hans was under a lot of stress. Clearly he wasn't suited to his new position and it made him stressed and depressed. When Iceland finally worked up the courage to question Hans about it, the only reply he received was, "I need the money, Iceland, you know that."

By the end of August, there were times when Iceland went to sleep alone in the house because Hans had been putting in so many hours at the resort. He claimed that it would be a "waste of time" to make the long journey home. Thus, Iceland sat at the edge of his bed, worrying terribly about what would happen to Hans if he continued like this, especially since Hans used to love skiing and would use every chance he got to ski. Now, Hans had little interest in nature and spent most of his time indoors.

Fidgeting uncontrollably, Iceland began to try using Hans' phone. He was certain that if he told Søren what was occurring in his absence, Søren would come immediately and solve everything. The phone wasn't used all that often, Iceland had only watched Hans use it before and even then, Hans had to call the town switchboard to have it connected before making a call. Iceland forced himself to bypass his shyness and painfully tried to understand the system. He called the operator many times, often failing to get his message out at all. It was the operator who finally became so frustrated with him that he cried out hoarsely to, "Tell me what you want already!"

Slowly Iceland explained that he was a friend of Hans' staying at his house and would like to talk to Søren. Unfortunately, the operator knew no one by such a name, told Iceland that Hans only ever called his parents and Iceland had no choice but to give up.

Fall finally arrived, though Iceland didn't notice it at first since the coniferous trees never changed color. Hans showed no signs of planning to pack up and visit his parents, who he hadn't seen in nearly four years and Iceland continued to be pent up with worry.

His worries, unfortunately, came true when Hans suddenly fell ill one evening. The next morning he was determined to go to work regardless of his sickness, but Iceland forced him to stay home in bed to rest. Days passed and Hans' illness only seemed to get worse as his fever rose and he began to shiver. Seeing his beloved's condition, Iceland stayed by his side all night long, dabbing a cold wet cloth on Hans' forehead to try to keep the fever down.

By the seventh day, the resort called and Iceland unwillingly answered the phone. He told Hans' boss that his employee was extremely ill and could not come for a while. Hans' boss seemed genuinely concerned, and advised Iceland to call a doctor in from town. Iceland later reiterated the message to Hans, who refused because it would cost a scary sum, especially since the cottage was hard to find and a good distance from the rest of civilization.

The eighth day of his illness, Hans began to cough up blood. Iceland was so panicked he had rushed to the bathroom to get a basin, only to stop on the way to double-take, wondering if Hans would still be alive when he returned. Eventually he got the basin and more towels and tried to help Hans get the blood out of his lungs. He desperately wanted to call the doctor in, since the sickness had progressed as far as it had, but didn't want to bring up the topic when Hans was in such agony. It made sense for Iceland to try to relieve him of worry when so ill. At least it made sense for him.

It wasn't until the ninth day that Iceland finally broke down in front of Hans. He had been crying alone for several nights since Hans fell deathly ill, but always tried to remain strong in front of his object of admiration. He had promised himself that he would make Hans happy in Søren's absence. He wanted to be strong like Søren, always smiling and optimistic with his toothy grin and shimmering blue eyes, but he wasn't Søren. He couldn't handle all the things that were going on. He _wasn't_ a human like he was. He was never sick, nor did he have a mother. He didn't know what to do. The frustrations and self-accusations finally climaxed as Iceland began to sob as if he couldn't breathe, creating echoing vibrations through the air, as if he was choking.

"I-Iceland...why are you-I'm fine, don't worry about me," Hans whispered in short breaths, surprised at Iceland's uncharacteristic burst of emotion. His voice had gone raspy from the prolonged illness and he was weaker than he had been his whole life. Iceland's eyes were filled to the brim with tears, his violet spheres surrounded by a sea of red veins from the lack of rest and his mouth pulled back in a grotesque frown. He was like a volcano, about to burst through his usual icy exterior. Fists clenched as if trying to hold back an eruption. It was too much for him, he had to get it out, he had to tell the truth.

"Y-you never asked me, even though I've always waited for you to. Let me tell you what I am," he started, swallowing his sobs, "I am the last of a civilization that had lived in the far northern islands, underneath the mountains since the creation of humanity," Iceland stopped as he stared at Hans' clouded face. He could tell the sick man was listening, despite his eyes being shut, so he continued,

"We have always observed humans, your progress throughout history. I have lived through every period of your development into advanced beings. But - there was something different about humans that separated you from us." Iceland stopped momentarily, wiping away his tears,

"Humans die."

Hans' eyes twitched, as if he couldn't comprehend Iceland's words.

"You humans die, while we never do. Your civilizations are things we could never fully comprehend or create. You pursue every interest and create new ideas, innovate and invent things to save time, create beautiful things that will outlast you in hopes of lasting forever in history. You procreate and cherish the company of others, and express such a wide range of emotions. We never had those things. The notion of death is the sole motivator for happiness: to be happy before you die. It's a great thing."

Silence filled the room at the conclusion of Iceland's speech. It took several minutes before Hans replied, "There are others like you?"

A pause.

"Live was monotonous for them, they all left me. They changed again and again and I can no longer recognize them. My people never had close relationships. I wouldn't know if they continue to exist."

Hans didn't know how to reply.

"I've lived in isolation in these mountains for years, hoping for a chance to live like a human. A life observing human lives and their deaths was my greatest dream. When you never die, there are few reasons to ever try to accomplish anything, since there's always more time and no need for efficiency or relics. I'm living the greatest happiness someone immortal ever could wish for: to be a human. It was only for that dream, I kept on living. The happiness of humans...is something I will never be able to feel, at least never on the same level...but...I can try," slowly, Iceland took Hans' hand and placed it above his heart, or at least where it should have been.

"Promise me this, Hans," a look of surprise entered Hans' eyes as Iceland let his hand drop back onto his bed. Tears began to swell up in his eyes once more as he observed Hans' condition.

"This is so stupid, you get one chance to live and you live it like this? You're so unhappy right now aren't you? Aren't you?" Iceland yelled at the bedridden man with a ferocity he had never shown before, "you miss Søren and you want him to be with you, yet you don't even call him. Don't deny it! I know you don't!"

Hans couldn't help but croak at the accusation, he previously declared that he didn't care if Søren was there, because frankly he was usually just annoying anyways; but at Iceland's words, he couldn't deny the truth any longer and nodded using his remaining strength.

"Hans, please don't let yourself die. I love you, or at least I think I do. I can't live an eternity thinking of your death like this. I thought death was supposed to be something beautiful, a closing chapter to a wonderful book. But right now - right now it is something so incredibly ugly."

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><p><strong>Act Three<strong>

Despite Iceland's confession to Hans, it wasn't until day fourteen, two weeks of being bedridden, that Hans finally began to recover with the help of the town doctor. The doctor had stayed with them for three days before leaving to help other patients. The cost of the visit dug a hole in Hans' finances, but the two housemates decided together that Hans' health had priority over his travel plans. It took another two long weeks afterwards before Iceland declared Hans' condition 'normal and safe' again, and by that time it was October. Hans decided to ask for demotion, even if it meant it would take him longer to save up for his planned trip. The other nagging issue was that he was still hesitant to converse about Iceland's identity, and was reluctant to believe it at times. It caused an awkward stillness to settle into the house at the most inconvenient times – during dinner or when wishing goodnight in the hallways.

Hans began to observe Iceland's habits and saw that the boy was in good health, despite rarely eating and sleeping for only a few hours each day. He never had dreams, because he had all the time in the world to accomplish any dream – an eternity really. He also had no favourite foods, as he had tasted all the flavours and textures before, and his interests seemed to be concentrated only in whatever seemed to please Hans at the time. Nothing really mattered to Iceland - he never died, so he put off his hobbies for as long as he wanted. The only motivation that stood out was impressing Hans, the one with a time limit.

Hans slowly began to realize the nature of the prison in which the boy lived. The prison of immortality. To be mortal was to be free, to know that all one's efforts eventually lead to something certain. For humans, the realm of immortality was a place for only sacred gods, and mankind had built great things to leave behind in order to accomplish in death what they could not in life. To leave a mark, to create a place in history, to be immortal in the hearts and minds of future generations - that was what everyone wished secretly, even if their individual methods and dreams were different. It was what kept humans alive and procreating – the hope that someone will remember them. It was the reason that people sought after happiness, to be happy before the final day came.

Hans couldn't help but contemplate his own existence more and more, often daydreaming when he worked at the resort. He had grown up in this cottage in northern Norway, where the sun would shine only a few hours during the long winter months. He visited the town to get supplies, but he had never been to the city before. By the city – of course – he meant the big city, like Copenhagen or, what was it called? New York. Yes, New York, the place the townsfolk would dream about visiting someday.

As fall met its end, Hans was enveloped by that dream, to go to the city and see what it is really like – the tall buildings he's heard of from his parents – sky scrapers or whatever they're called. He wanted to know how the city dwellers lived. _Did they cook on the same kind of stove? Use the same kind of phone? Did they like snow and skiing the same way he did?_

The questions began to surround and engulf him. Hans couldn't help but feel as though his entire twenty-two years of life had been in a bubble. An old-fashioned bubble that was xenophobic to the urban world. The more he began to realize, the more pathetic he felt. He had deserted his family because he couldn't stand the thought of living in a large city, and grew distant from his closest friend. As he thought more and more, he began to feel panicked, realizing that he could die without experiencing anything outside of his comfortable bubble-world.

Winter came in full force that year, and passed gracefully as the snow melted and retreated when spring arrived. Hans turned twenty-three, and it was on that birthday that he left his only home.

He and Iceland went fishing the day prior, and he promised the white-haired boy that he would return to fulfill his wish. Iceland reluctantly complied, though he didn't want to see Hans leave, he loved him enough to respect his decisions. Thus, they said their farewells, and Hans made the long journey to the city.

When he first reached the city, his heart was thrashing wildly in his chest. Loud sounds rang and shook from every direction, and sounds of every emotion flew through the air. The air carried the smell of cooking meat from a nearby restaurant, and the rose-scented perfume of little old ladies crossing the street. It wasn't long after his arrival that Hans became nauseous from all the new smells and sounds that vibrated through his body, and collapsed onto a bench in a luxuriously blossoming park. Pollen from the spring flowers made his nose feel tingly, and he had to sneeze several times. The humid heat rose up from the harbour, and giggling girls in skirts walked by him, making him feel vastly overdressed for the weather.

As he sat on the park bench, he took out his map and studied the diagram to his parents' apartment. It wasn't too far from where he was currently, and the distance was short for someone who walked as much as he usually did. Taking off his scarf, he began to make his way towards his destination, only stopped to ask a few grumpy office workers for directions in poor English.

Upon arriving at his destination, he stared long and hard at the looming building in front of him. It was absurdly tall, seeming to reach up to the heavens. The tallest building Hans had seen in town had only three stories - thirty was a huge difference. It took him a while to work the elevator, and it was an older gentleman who eventually helped him get on. In the tight, suffocating space of the elevator, he began to feel claustrophobic and couldn't help but stare at his surroundings. Standing across from him was a girl in a skimpy outfit and a face caked with make-up, punching buttons on a rectangular plastic box (which he later learned was a pager). Hans began to stare at the object, wondering what it was when the elevator dinged and the older gentleman left. There were only the two of them left and Hans continued to stare in fascination. Before long, the girl sensed his attentions, and began to think he was some sort of pervert. Sweat beads trailed down her arm as she grew nervous that she might be raped, which only made Hans look at her up and down, mesmerized by the glimmering sweat. When they reached the twenty-second floor, the girl jumped out almost too quickly, but was relieved that the perverted blonde man didn't follow her.

Finally, Hans reached the twenty-eighth floor, where his parents' apartment was supposed to be. He walked quickly out of the clamped elevator and had a skip in his step as he walked to room 2808 and knocked on the door, unaware of the doorbell mechanism. He knocked several times, gradually louder each time until he worried that his parents might not have been home. He had been sure they lived here when he called before last winter. Depressed, he turned back towards the elevator to head back to the lobby. He would have to come back and try later.

However, his soon found that his route was blocked by a large man with a strong sweet, cinnamon odour and an angry expression. Hans felt panicked as he thought that the man was a security guard who thought he was a robber. Fortunately, his fears were soon dissolved as he was crushed in a tight hug.

"Hans!" cried the attacker in a familiar tongue. Hans' eyes widened as he realized it was Søren, who he hadn't seen for almost two years. The Dane had grown formidable in those two years, his eyebrows seemed sharper and his few boyish features were now gone. Rough stubble grew on his chin and he had a stunningly brilliant set of sideburns that framed his face. However, the same devilish grin adored his features, those blue eyes were still hypnotizing and his hair was cut in the same style as before.

His friend was even taller than Søren, though by only a few centimetres. His hair was a pale blond color and two shining aquamarine eyes peeked out from behind a set of black, thick-rimmed glasses.

"This is Berwald. He played hockey with me in university, and now lives here," Søren gestured towards his intimidating friend before clasping Hans' shoulder with his hand, "sooooooo! What are you doin' here anyways, Hans? I haven't seen or heard from you in two years and now I suddenly bump into you in the city! I thought you had vowed to never go to the city?"

The man called Berwald looked at the Dane with curiosity and spoke to him in what seemed like English.

"Ooooh! Yeah, Hans doesn't really speak English good. He came from a small town in northern Europe. Doesn't know much English you see." He told his friend, starting a long conversation in English. Hans could only understand bits and pieces of their dialogue, but knew he was the topic being discussed. Hans felt ignored, Søren never left him out of a conversation before. Eventually, the two stopped and Søren said his good-byes to his friend, dragging Hans with him down the hall, towards the elevator.

"W-where are you taking me?" Hans stuttered, feeling as shy was Iceland after being away from Søren for two years.

"To a cafe, you silly! It's been so long, don't you want to catch up?" Søren winked as he glanced at Hans with a sideways grin. Hans agreed, and the two ended up talking for six long hours until the cafe closed for the evening.

A month after Hans left, Iceland received a phone call from his beloved. Hans updated him on what he had been doing and what he had learned – his parents had divorced without him knowing about a year ago, gone their separate ways to live out different futures; though he was able to meet both of them. Søren broke up with his girlfriend, who he actually been dating since his first year of university - knowledge that made Hans strangely uncomfortable. He couldn't help but wonder if his previous drunken advances were meant for her. Søren recently moved out of Copenhagen, and bought Hans' parents' condo just last month. Hans was also introduced to all of Søren's friends, and they had informed him of many of Søren's terrible traits – his capricious nature, his pompous attitude, his constant drinking; though the worst one was Søren's constant flirtations with women that frequently ended up in the bedroom.

Hans hesitantly told Iceland that he missed the boy dearly, and wanted to return to the icy tundra that was him real home. However, he didn't want to give up on the city life so soon, even if he felt terribly lonely upon realizing how little he knew about Søren. Two months out of twelve was truly not long enough to know a person.

Hans' feelings towards Søren became incredibly mixed as time progressed. At times he was disgusted by his behaviour, yet when they were alone, he could no longer deny he was falling in love with Søren and became alarmed by his growing emotions. Both seemed to avoid serious conversation and by the fifth month of his visit, Søren seemed to be drunk more often than sober. If Hans had realized they shared the same feelings for each other, and that Søren's erratic behaviour was largely caused by his unrequited love for him, perhaps his story would have ended differently.

It took six months before Hans was running low on cash, and spent the last of his savings on his trip home. Hans couldn't handle the city life, which he now understood fairly well. He was quiet and reserved, and the flashy clubs Søren introduced to him were too much for him to handle. Some nights, he had the urge to throw-up after seeing the sweaty bodies grinding up against each other, and seeing his friend join in the partying. The skyscrapers he had dreamed about blocked out the blue sky, and Hans felt caged by their metallic structures. The stoves had all sorts of settings that burned him if he didn't realize they were on, and everybody used phones constantly. Hans felt like his privacy was being constantly invaded. People were fat and sat in desks all day, skiing only on vacations. They hated the snow, and did nothing but rejoice as it melted, defeated by the glaring sun.

However, Hans didn't regret living those six months away from home. It gave him an experience outside of the bubble - in the big, big, scary world his father talked about. As he watched the snow-covered fields pass by him on the bus to town, he told himself that he was happy to know that Iceland was there to greet him at the station and take him back to his real home. He was going back to the cottage in the woods, the home he knew best.

On that last trip, Hans believed he was happy. Not light-hearted, content or amused, but really happy: happy that he had seen the outside world; happy that he had certainty, certainty that his life was truly in the mountains of his youth, surrounded by the beauty of nature and loneliness of rural life. He was a part of that landscape, it was a part of him. He had Iceland, the only one he needed, the one who loved him the most.

Søren wasn't going to come and save him like he had hoped. His parents were no longer there to give him a purpose or a manual to follow. It was his responsibility to find happiness for himself.

It was his life.

Seated at the back of the bus, he cried until his eyes were swollen.

He hoped he wasn't making a mistake.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Finale<strong>_

Fifty years passed since their first meeting, and Hans fell deathly ill again, only his muscles were too aged and weak to recover, his bones too frail to hold up his body. No doctors were willing to go to the little cottage in the north anymore. Iceland remained by his bedside, as he always did, unconcerned with Hans' wrinkles and yellow teeth. His own body, unlike Hans', was still of a boy's, preserving the same image he did when they first met. Same boyish round face, same pouty lips. The only change was the amount of tenderness he displayed as he held onto his beloved's hand in those final moments together. It was on that final day, that Iceland spoke of his own wish once more.

"Thank you, Hans."

"For what?"

"For giving me the ultimate gift, to let me feel so many emotions with you, happiness, sadness, disappointment and satisfaction. To see you live and die so beautifully like this-"

"I don't see anything beautiful about death...I don't...want to die yet, but-"

"-you don't have a choice, my love," Iceland paused as he leaned towards the weakened old man to kiss his forehead, brushing away the stray strands of grey hair, "but soon, you will be free."

The old Norwegian man stopped to think about what the boy said.

"You-you know what?" Hans croaked in a wispy voice.

"Hmm?"

"What I really want right now?"

"What?"

"To relive that last day of that summer, long ago. When you and Søren and I were together and he was drinking irresponsibly as always. You drank a whole bottle of spirit and juice and didn't get dizzy at all. A-and," Hans heaved a cough, "Søren got drunk and I was so embarrassed with his behaviour. I want to relive that day. I wish it turned out differently."

"No you don't Hans. Don't die with that day in mind."

"Why not?"

"Because, you'll only die thinking about how much you regret not appreciating that day instead of being embarrassed by it. You'll die with the regret of never telling Søren your feelings and leaving the city. You'll regret coming back to a life in the wilderness with me. I know you've lived a happy life Hans, don't think about your one regret. You can't change anything now. Think about some other day, a day with no regrets."

"Like what?" Hans asked, and Iceland hesitated,

"Like the day I caught that puffin and domesticated it so that it would not run away. Remember that day?"

"Yes, you tried to eat him afterwards though." Hans said peacefully, closing his eyes in content remembrance, trying to picture the puffin's alarmed expression when Iceland hacked at it with his ski pole, lips turned upwards in a grin as his mind began to go blank.

"And the time you got caught on the mountain during a snow storm and saved a lemming. Or that time you and I built one of those igloo things, or when we made perfectly round pancakes and celebrated by seeing who could fit the most pancakes in their mouth at once..."

Hans was no longer listening. His short life ended, with Iceland by his side, watching his death and recalling all of their good memories. A death Iceland would never endure himself, the sole thing that eluded him.

After Hans' body became cold, and his face pale, Iceland dug a hole behind the house, and followed the rituals of burial that humans used. Iceland left the cottage to find a new fascination, forever cherishing that small fragment of time he spent with Hans, in his ever expanding memory.

* * *

><p>"<strong>A man, who as a physical being, is always turned toward the outside, thinking that his happiness lies outside him, finally turns inward and discovers that the source is within him." <strong>- Søren Kierkegaard


End file.
